Native Hawk (California Legends Book 3)

by Glynnis Campbell

  He glanced over at the nightstand. His gun wasn’t there.

  He narrowed his eyes. Then his lip curled up in a smile. Maybe in their wild coupling last night, they’d knocked it from the nightstand.

  He looked down at the floor. Nothing was there.

  Throwing the covers back, he climbed out and searched behind the nightstand and under the bed. He lifted up the pillows. He looked in his boots. He rummaged through the sheets.

  Nothing.

  What the hell had happened to his forty-five?

  While he was standing nude with his hands on his hips, the door opened, and Cat peeked in.

  Her jaw dropped, but then she gave him a devilish grin and closed the door behind her, leaning against it with lust in her eyes.

  He couldn’t help but be captivated.

  He meant to ask her about his revolver, but promptly forgot.

  Then, after they spent a delicious half-hour seizing the day by reliving the entertainment of the night before, Drew changed his mind about selling his weapon.

  He realized that Cat considered him her gunfighting protector. Without his gun, she might think he couldn’t defend her properly. The truth was it had come in handy a few times in the last month.

  He’d find the piece eventually. He must have left it downstairs or something.

  As he cradled her in his arms, smiling at the rumpled dress with its bustle twisted to one side—the dress she was in too big a hurry to remove, he decided he’d just have to earn his money the way he always had—at the poker table.

  By late afternoon, Drew was up and around. He was already in a foursome and up by three dollars when Sheriff Campbell waltzed in.

  “Twins,” he said, shaking his head at Drew. “Well, I’ll be.” Then he rubbed his hands together. “Any o’ you boys headin’ out?”

  All three players were willing to surrender their spot, considering it was the sheriff asking.

  But Drew shook his head. “Look, Sheriff, I don’t want any trouble. I don’t want to cross the law. And I don’t want to take any more of your hard-earned money.”

  The sheriff snorted at that. “That’s hogslop. You just don’t want me to win my money back…or my Maggie Ellen.”

  “Now, Sheriff,” Drew tried to explain, “that ain’t it at all. There’s no one wants your girl to come back to you more than me.”

  “But you’re refusin’ to play me.”

  Drew grimaced. “It’s just the principle of the—”

  “Fine,” the sheriff snapped, jamming his hat down onto his head. “But I’ve got my eyes on you—you and your twin brother.” Then, making sure it was loud enough for the whole Parlor to hear, he said, “I guess I’ll just be takin’ my business to The Pair-o-Dice Saloon from now on.”

  Then he left in a huff, slamming the door of The Parlor behind him.

  Though things were far from perfect, most nights, Catalina hummed happily as she carried the tray of whiskey glasses through the salon. She didn’t mind her job, especially since the regulars understood that she belonged to Drew.

  Men rarely accosted her as she weaved in and out of the crowd, delivering drinks. When new visitors arrived, Miss Hattie was quick to inform them that unless they wanted to tangle with the hulking half-breed at the poker table, they’d best leave the Italian lady alone.

  But even making a dollar and a half a day and sharing a room with Drew, she wasn’t able to put much aside for her sewing machine. And the way they’d been seizing the days this last week, it was inevitable that she would find herself with child soon.

  So far, she was safe. She’d just started her monthly courses this morning.

  Meanwhile, in every spare moment, Catalina had been sketching out designs for dresses. The English Queen Victoria had made white wedding gowns popular, so that was what she envisioned for herself. She sketched out pearl buttons and lace trim with taffeta bows along the draped overskirt.

  For the ladies of The Parlor, she imagined gowns in a rainbow of colors, each dress matched perfectly to the lady who wore it. For Anne, she drew a smart ensemble of vivid green with lighter green inserts and trim. For Emily, she created a stunning design in royal and sky blue stripes. Mary’s dress had pastel pink ruffles and deep rose piping. The other dresses of dove gray, goldenrod, plum, and creamy beige were adorned with unique features like ribbon roses and side-swept swags, lace insets and bell sleeves. For Miss Hattie, Catalina designed a simple but elegant emerald gown with a jacket in dark teal to set off her brilliant red hair.

  Catalina’s fingers itched to bring the gowns to life. It was one thing to draw them on paper, quite another to see them realized. But it was anyone’s guess as to when that would be possible.

  Fortunately, Drew had been winning at cards. He’d won thirty-seven dollars this week. If Lady Luck stayed with him, they might be able to afford a sewing machine in a few weeks. If he had a few bad games, it might be months.

  Then she glanced over at her handsome husband-to-be, who was carefully studying the other three players for what he called their “tells,” the little secret gestures they made when they had good or bad cards. Her heart melted.

  She decided that, even if he lost tonight, even if they couldn’t afford a sewing machine for months, even if she had to wear a wedding dress with a gigantic waist to cover her condition, she would be happy. Lady Luck was definitely on her side.

  Chapter 30

  Sheriff Jasper Brown was feeling lucky as he rode into the town of Paradise near sunset. He knew he was close to his quarry, and he could almost taste the acrid fire of revenge.

  Then again, that might just be the charred ruin of the barn he smelled as he and his sons rode toward Paradise. A large wooden sign over the entrance proclaimed the place THE PARKER RANCH.

  Another few miles, and they hit the center of town. It appeared the evening was just getting started for the drinking men.

  Paradise was off the beaten track as far as towns went. But it was a decent place with plenty of orchards and shops, churches and hotels. Best of all, by the tinny music and chatter he could hear coming out the doors, it had several saloons.

  He reined up at the first establishment he saw, The Red Dog Saloon, and tied the horses to the hitching post. With his boys flanking him, he went through the open door, bellied up to the bar, and ordered three sarsaparillas.

  “Aww, Pa,” Harvey complained.

  “Make mine with a shot o’ whiskey,” Jim told the bartender.

  Jasper grabbed the bartender’s arm before he could comply and shook his head. “We’re gonna keep our wits about us, boys.”

  He had a feeling tonight was going to be the showdown. This was the end of his journey. If he didn’t find his man here, he’d never find him. But he sure didn’t need his boys half-drunk when it came time to settle the score.

  While he waited for the sarsaparillas, he scoured the room. A piano player made a racket in the corner while a skinny kid scratched on a violin, making a noise that sounded like a cat in heat. There were only two card games going—both games of faro. He studied the faces of the players. None of them were the half-breed.

  Once he got his drink, he told the boys to circulate while he had a little chat with the bartender. They immediately started cozying up to the saloon girls.

  “I’m lookin’ for a good game o’ five-card draw,” he said, carefully concealing his star. For this bit of ugly business, he’d just as soon not be known as a lawman. Unless his credentials came in handy, he planned to slip in and out of town with no fuss. “You get that in here?”

  The bartender popped the cork back into a bottle of whiskey. “Faro’s the favorite here. You might try down the street at the Pair-o-Dice.”

  Jasper nodded and took a sip. For an instant, he forgot it was sarsaparilla and flinched at the syrupy sweet taste.

  The bartender continued pouring drinks while Jasper perused the saloon. The men were mostly white, but since the area had been settled during the Gold Rush, a lot of immigrants ha
d infested the town.

  Jasper took another slug of sarsaparilla. “You got any half-breeds come through?”

  “Half-breeds?” the bartender said, wiping a spill off the bar. “Sure.”

  “Got any here now?” Every town had a couple drifters.

  The bartender, misunderstanding him, took a gander around the room and gestured to a man playing faro. “Joe there is half-Mexican.” He smirked, nodding to an exotic-looking lady beside the piano. “And the lady grabbin’ your son’s crotch is half-Chinese.”

  Jasper narrowed his eyes to slits. He’d talk to Jim about his taste in women later. “Any half-Injuns?”

  The bartender shrugged. “Robert might be a quarter-Injun, not sure about that. He’s the one on the fiddle.”

  Jasper decided he was getting nowhere at The Red Dog. So he drained his glass and rounded up his sons.

  The Pair-o-Dice was a few doors down. This saloon had a lady barkeep and four games going. There was a woman warbling “Silver Threads Among the Gold” into the room, but only one of the dance hall girls had a partner, a grizzled old gent. As Jasper’s gaze roved over the room, it landed on a player with a silver star on his vest. It appeared the town sheriff was sitting at one of the tables, playing five-card draw.

  Jasper scratched at his cheek. Maybe he’d try a different strategy since the local lawman was a gambler.

  He told his boys to buy themselves a couple of dances. Then he watched the poker game till it was over. When the players slid their chairs back, he approached the sheriff with his friendliest smile.

  “Howdy, Sheriff,” he said, flashing his own badge. “Good to see one o’ my fellow lawmen havin’ a little fun at the card table. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Can’t say no to that,” the sheriff replied. “I’m drinkin’ bourbon.”

  “Bourbon it is.” He waved to the barkeep. Then he extended his hand and said, “I’m Sheriff Jasper Brown o’ Shasta.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” The sheriff shook his hand. “You’re a long way from home.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a gamblin’ man, but where I’m from, the locals frown on their sheriff playin’ cards.”

  “You don’t say.” He clucked his tongue. “Folks here don’t seem to care. I’m Sheriff Ernie Campbell, by the way.”

  “Ernie,” he said, handing the man his bourbon when it arrived. “You seem like a smart, trustworthy fellow. Can I confide in you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve been trackin’ a particular poker player, a man they say is unbeatable.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I figure an eagle-eyed sheriff like you is bound to notice a stranger in town.”

  “A stranger like you?” he said with a wink.

  “That’s right, Ernie. That’s right.” He clapped the man on the back. “At any rate, this man I’m lookin’ for is a…a half-breed. You wouldn’t know of anyone like that come through here lately?”

  “A half-breed? Hell, we got two of ’em in town. And yeah, one of ’em is a poker player. In fact,” he said, gulping down a swallow of bourbon with a grimace, “he took me for a bundle. After he was done fleecin’ me, my Maggie Ellen wouldn’t have anything to do with me.” He sadly shook his head.

  “So where does he play, this half-breed?”

  “At The Parlor, just down the street.”

  “Would he be there now?”

  “Prob’ly,” the sheriff said. “His bride-to-be is workin’ there. But I’d be careful. He’ll steal you blind.”

  Jasper spent a few more minutes in mindless chitchat with the sheriff, just for appearance’s sake. Then he interrupted the dances, much to his protesting sons’ chagrin, and headed out the door with them to The Parlor.

  When they entered the salon, the two boys gave a low whistle, impressed with the rich décor and quality “merchandise.”

  While Harvey stared in slack-jawed awe at the ladies preening on the balcony, Jim waved to one of the girls, and she lifted up her skirts in return.

  “Can I get one o’ them, Pa? Can I? I won’t take long, I promise.”

  Jasper figured he was probably right. The state the boy was in, it’d be all over before he even got his drawers halfway down.

  “Sure. Just don’t pick up any bugs and don’t give her any bastards.”

  “I want two whores,” Jim decided. “Can I have two?”

  “Don’t be an idjit.”

  He summoned the madam and gave her enough money for one apiece.

  She eyed the boys and said, “You’ll have to hand over your guns, just for the safety o’ my girls. You can have ’em back after.”

  The boys unbuckled their gun belts and gave them to the madam. Then he watched in relief as they clambered up the stairs, as excited as toddlers with a new puppy.

  “I’m lookin’ for someone,” he told the madam. “The sheriff told me he frequents your place.”

  “Did he?” She crossed her arms. “Well, I’m not in the habit o’ disclosin’ who does and doesn’t come to my establishment. It’s a matter o’ discretion.”

  Jasper itched to show her his badge, slam her up against the wall, and demand to know where the half-breed was. But he knew he’d get more flies with honey than vinegar. So he bit the bullet and gave her a wide, innocent smile.

  “Oh, it’s nothin’ nefarious, ma’am,” he assured her. “I’m just lookin’ for a good game o’ poker. The sheriff said there was a half-breed in town who—”

  “A half-breed?” The woman’s face tensed slightly. Something rang a bell with her. Then, just as slick as a hawker of patent medicine, she clammed up and played stupid. “I wouldn’t know nothin’ about half-breeds. Don’t allow ’em in my place.”

  “Is that right?” Jasper grinned. He had a feeling she’d allow a monkey in her place if it could come up with the funds. “That’s interestin’, ’cause the sheriff said this is where he usually plays.”

  The madam’s eyes were as cold as steel as she answered, “Well, the sheriff must be mistaken.”

  He knew she was lying. They both knew. But it had taken Jasper several days to come this far. He didn’t mind waiting another couple of hours. Sooner or later, he had a feeling his man would show up. His boys were upstairs entertaining themselves anyway. He’d just sit here, have a sarsaparilla, and wait it out.

  Unless they were ordering a drink, Catalina usually paid no heed to the conversations of the men who came into The Parlor. Most of their exchanges with Miss Hattie had to do with perversions she didn’t want to hear about. But the word “half-breed” had caught her ear. From behind the bar, she glanced up.

  The man was as big as a bear. His beige duster strained at the shoulders and looked like it couldn’t be buttoned over his girth. His brown trousers were dusty and flecked with horsehair from a recent ride. His black vest was undone, and beneath it, his faded blue shirt was stained. Catalina guessed he was either a bachelor or a widower. No woman she knew would let her husband out of the house looking like that.

  She poured a glass of claret and put it on a tray beside the two bourbons. She wondered if the man was inquiring about Drew. Maybe he was a poker player. Then she smiled to herself. Maybe Drew could win enough money off of him to buy her a sewing machine, and she’d make the bear a proper set of clothes.

  She poured whiskey into the last glass and glanced up at Miss Hattie. The madam looked alarmed. Catalina had never seen her look like that. What was wrong? The bottle clinked against the glass as Catalina corked it with nervous hands.

  With a furtive glance at the newcomer, who sat by himself, she delivered the drinks to the table of card players adjacent. Then she approached the stranger.

  “Care for a drink?” she asked.

  “Sarsaparilla, if you’ve got it.”

  Catalina blinked. Usually only the ladies drank sarsaparilla. But she smiled and nodded. She’d worked in the brothel long enough that not much surprised her.

  As she went to fetch the sarsaparilla, Miss Hattie
gave her a grim and pointed look. Catalina frowned. She knew the madam was trying to give her a warning, but about what? So far, the man had only asked for a drink. What harm could there be in that?

  But when Catalina returned and set his glass on the table, he seized her wrist. She gasped with a start. It wasn’t a painful grip, and he smiled, running his thumb across the back of her knuckles and across her wedding ring as if in friendship.

  Catalina tried not to shudder with distaste. If Miss Hattie hadn’t given her that look of warning, and if she hadn’t heard that the man was looking for a half-breed, she would have wrenched her hand away at once and clobbered him with the tray.

  But she sensed this was not a man to anger. So she clenched her teeth and gave him a smile in return. “Something is wrong?”

  “You been workin’ here a while?”

  “Si, yes.” Maybe he had mistaken her for one of the sporting ladies. She would set him straight. “But I only serve the drinks and—”

  “So you know who comes and goes.”

  He released her hand.

  She resisted the urge to wipe it on her skirts.

  He took a sip of sarsaparilla.

  She wasn’t sure how to answer him. “Many men come and go.” She shrugged. “After a while, they all look—”

  “Ah, but this one you’d remember. A half-breed? Tall? Dark? Handsome?”

  Catalina could tell by the sneer in his voice that he meant harm to Drew—or maybe Chase. That was why Miss Hattie had warned her away.

  Fortunately, Drew was safe upstairs in their room, taking a bath. He probably wouldn’t be down for another hour. With any luck, the stranger would be gone by then.

  She made a point of looking the man in the eye as she lied. “I do not think I know this man.”

  The stranger smiled, sat back in his chair, and took another drink. His eyes glittered in amusement over the top of his glass. But he said no more.

  With a nod of her head, Catalina picked up the tray and returned to the bar. She exchanged a wary glance with Miss Hattie, but then the madam was suddenly distracted by a customer.